5 Things That Never Happened to Donna Sabine
by Ace Bullets
Summary: Fics about Donna are few and far between, so she's going to get the '5 things' treatment, too. Just remember that these things never really happened. Mostly drama/angst with some funny thrown in with the last tale.
1. Detachment

**A/N: Okay, I have _no_ idea where all this came from, but suffice to say I'm pleased with the result. It's probably the fic with the most 'Canadian' content I've written up to this point; those with sharp eyes will definitely be able to spot them. Enjoy.**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Donna Sabine**

_**Detachment**_

RCMP Corporal Donna Sabine figured one didn't really and truly know the meaning of 'bleak mid-winter' until one experienced a winter in the Northwest Territories.

Somewhere, dimly in the back of her mind, she had known that she could potentially be sent to any detachment in the country when she joined the ranks of Canada's storied 'mounted police'. But gawd, did it _have_ to be _here_?

'Here', was Fort Providence, some 233 kilometers southwest of the territory's capital city of Yellowknife, on the banks of the Mackenzie River. It was really considered a hamlet; there were barely eight hundred souls living here. Fort Providence had been mostly settled by members of the Slavey Dene tribe when a Roman Catholic bishop decided the area would be a swell place to start a mission back in the late 1800s. A little later, a boarding school was established by some members of the Grey Nuns order, and then the Hudson's Bay Company came knocking.

Access to Fort Providence was mainly a ferry crossing over the MacKenzie, and an ice bridge when the waters froze over in the Winter. There was a lot of discussion lately about the planned construction of a _real_ bridge over the river, which would guarantee year-round access for residents to and from the hamlet.

In spite of the name, Donna didn't think there was much of anything 'providential' about being stationed at Fort Providence, and its historic merits didn't really interest her, either. It was all so small, and so _isolated_, she felt the loneliness as a constant companion, clinging to her and weighting her down.

There was no hospital; they depended on a health centre staffed by three nurses for medical treatment. There was no correctional facility, though the tiny community saw its share of crime. No banks, either, but that was probably a good thing, because at least that meant nobody would try to rob the damn place. And with three police officers in the entire hamlet, the idea of having to deal with something like that with only two people to back you up was a little scary.

The wildlife was a constant part of the local scenery, like bison and caribou, and Donna had just about become accustomed to seeing the hulking creatures grazing on the sides of the gravel roads.

There were things she definitely hadn't become accustomed to, most notably the cold. Her lips were constantly chapped, and no amount of lip balm, liberally applied, would help matters. Donna learned early that dressing in layers really helped keep her core temperature within safe limits, but always her extremities suffered.

Her first week in Fort Providence netted a visit to the health centre where a sympathetic nurse helped treat her frost-bitten ears. At the time, she'd underestimated how cold it had been when she'd ventured outside without a touque. It was only when a colleague had pointed out that her ears had turned _white _that she realised she was in trouble. She'd just thought the numbness she was experiencing was a natural consequence of the colder temperatures. _Now_, she _never_ went out into the cold without making sure she'd properly covered her ears and head.

At that recollection, Donna shivered in her heavy, winter parka. She stamped her feet against the frozen ground, hoping to maybe wake up her frozen toes. It was early January, where the sun just sort of made a half-hearted effort to get up in the morning, shining wanly as if nursing a bad hangover.

She thought suddenly of a line from a Diana Krall/Elvis Costello song that went:

'_Narrow daylight entered my room; shining hours were brief; Winter is over, Summer is near; Are we stronger than we believe?_'

Apt description – almost. Shining hours were edging closer to seven this time of year, but Winter was far from being over. As for strength, well, Donna was feeling especially drained right now. She'd spent half the night patrolling around, searching for a missing teen. When she'd come upon a snowmobile on one of the access roads, she'd stopped her vehicle and climbed out to inspect it.

Her breath curled around her face in a thick cloud, the vapors visibly hanging for several seconds before finally dissipating in the slight wind. The mercury was registering a lovely, skin-freezing temperature of minus thirty-eight degrees Celsius – a dry, bitter cold.

There was no way they were going to find sixteen-year-old Ronnie McLeod alive. He'd been reported missing around nine PM when he didn't return from what was supposed to be a short spin on his father's snowmobile – the very snowmobile she was now looking at. If the snowmobile had broken down, as Donna surmised it had, Ronnie had probably tried to make it home on foot. In these frigid temperatures, that would be an invitation to hypothermia, and eventually, inevitably – death.

Donna had already dealt with a handful of deaths in the period of time she'd been here, which was nearing the twelve month mark. One had been a suicide. The other was an accidental drowning. It had been awful breaking the news of those deaths to the family members. Donna hated every moment of the uncomfortable silences between the delivery of the devastating information, and the moment when the reality of the situation sank in to the minds of the families.

Even before knowing the outcome of tonight's missing-persons case, Donna started bracing herself for the worst-case scenario. Sure, she might not have warmed to her environment, but the people here were basically good people. A lot of them kept up with some of the traditional ways of life, hunting, fishing and trapping. They'd been cordial enough when she'd tried to mingle with them off-duty; a sort of surface-level acceptance of her presence and vice-versa.

But the only way Donna figured she could serve them best was to maintain a kind of stand-offish attitude. In such a close-knit community where people knew just about everybody else, new-comers like her always felt like intruders. And since her stint in the hamlet wasn't going to last forever, anyway, what sense did it make to try to develop lasting relationships?

No, it was best to remain aloof.

Don't become _too_ interested in them. Don't let _them_ get too close. Don't let _anything_ get personal.

And when you have to break their hearts, don't let them see you cry.

Like the weather and location, just make it through the day with icy detachment.

* * *

**A/N: 'Narrow Daylight' lyrics were pretty much used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. 'Narrow Daylight' was written by Diana Krall and Elvis Costello.**

**A touque (alternate spelling 'toque' or 'tuque') is winter-wear. It's a Canadian term for a knitted cap. **

**For my readers who don't comprehend Celsius: -38 C is equivalent to approximately -36.4 F. Brrrr. **


	2. First Kill

**A/N: Here's another 'dialogue only' story (since I've challenged myself to do at least one of these for each of my '5 Things' series). It's about what _might_ have happened after the episode 'Clean Hands', but didn't (duh).  
**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Donna Sabine**

_**First Kill**_

"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Luria."

"'Short notice' comes with the job description, Donna, so please don't think you're imposing. I'm here for you and your team mates, and I'm ready to help you."

"Oh. Okay..."

"Now, I had a look at your file, so I know you recently joined the SRU. Previously, you'd spent four years with Vice; two of those were with the undercover division..."

"That's right."

"Big jump."

"I guess."

"According to all your performance evaluations, you're an excellent fit for this Unit. You topped a list of about three hundred applicants. That's no small feat, Donna."

"It was a challenge, I'll admit, and I was so thrilled when I heard I'd made the team, but..."

"...But something's not sitting quite right with you, is it?"

"No. It isn't."

"So, let's talk. What's bothering you?"

"Well, you said you've seen my file, right?"

"Yes, I have."

"Then you know I also just went through an SIU hearing."

"Yes, and you were cleared of any wrongdoing."

"They cleared me alright, but... I just can't stop thinking about it. I can't get that image out of my head! I _killed_ someone. And not just any 'someone', I killed another law enforcement officer."

"Donna, Agent Delia Semple may have been employed to enforce the laws of this country, but her actions that day clearly indicated that she felt she was above the law. You essentially did what had to be done."

"Did I? I killed a woman who was in the throes of grief. She's dead, and instead, a filthy piece of murdering scum is alive to see another day!"

"Agent Semple abused her position. Surely you understand that she had no right to play judge, jury and executioner of Peter Wilkins?"

"Yeah, I 'understand', but what, then, does that say about _my_ actions? Dr. Luria, I put in for the SRU because I wanted to make a real difference. I wanted to be 'the good guy', because I was starting to feel _tainted_ working with Vice. Being constantly surrounded by the dregs everyday, pretending to be human vermin when I was undercover, was starting to take a significant toll on me. I _had_ to get away from all that moral decay."

"I can see how your experiences with Vice would make you feel that way, Donna."

"I thought I would finally be able to 'protect and serve' with this Unit. Instead, my first time on a call, and I had to protect a stinking serial killer. I had to use lethal force, shooting someone who by all rights should have been on _our_ side. It's all so twisted and backwards, I can't stand it! Dr. Luria, I can't do this. I can't continue with this unit if things are going to be like this. It's killing me."

"Are you saying you're looking to resign from the SRU?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Does Sergeant Parker know you feel this way?"

"No. Not yet. I wanted to see what you thought, first, Dr. Luria."

"Donna, your first kill is always going to be traumatic, no matter what the circumstances-"

"My 'first' kill? My God! You make it sound like it's going to be the first of many!"

"That's not quite what I meant, Donna, but this is your _job_. This is what you're called to do: to make those difficult decisions in the heat of the moment. If the only solution means using lethal force, then you've got to learn to be comfortable with that decision."

"Let someone _else _make those decisions! I _quit!_"

* * *


	3. Law of Averages

**A/N: This is not a happy fic. In fact, it's decidedly dark. Just be happy it's not happening to Jules, since she always gets treated rotten by you ficcers out there. And Donna gets no love, either, so I decided to give her a long piece here. Please note that the rating for this collection of stories has changed to T, just to be on the safe side. Don't ask me where this story idea came from, because I don't know. But what my muse sings, I write. **

**Five Things That Never Happened to Donna Sabine**

_**Law of Averages**_

Intellectually, Donna knew that staring at the strip of chemically-treated paper was not going to make the result appear any faster than the instructions on the box said it would. But she just couldn't help herself.

"Is anything happening yet?"

Donna heard Chad's anxious voice right behind her shoulder. She'd sensed his hovering presence much earlier, and was impressed he'd kept his silence even this long. Minutes before, he'd afforded her some privacy in the bathroom, sheepishly slipping out the door when she told him she needed some space. He'd waited until the splashing sounds of Donna's hand-washing had stopped before he made his return.

"No, nothing yet," Donna replied with a patience she was surprised she could muster, given her own growing sense of anticipation.

She heard her husband sigh softly, and felt his arms go around her. "We've just been trying so long..."

"I know," Donna said, leaning into him. _Five years of disappointments and dashed hopes..._

"This is killing me," Chad muttered. "These are always the longest five minutes of my life; waiting to see if this stupid thing indicates if it's a positive or a negative."

_The longest five minutes of _my_ life, too,_ _Chad, _Donna thought, _you're not the only one._

"Chad..." she said moments later, scrutinizing the home pregnancy test to be sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. "I think..."

"What?" Chad's embrace tightened, his voice anxious. "Do you see something happening?"

"Yes. It's faint, but... I think that's a blue line. I _think_ it's _positive_..." She didn't want to sound too excited, lest she be wrong. She didn't want to give him false hope.

"Let me see!" Chad cried, releasing Donna and reaching for the test. She let him have a look for himself.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," Donna said, shaking her head. "Tell me you see what I see."

Chad peered at the test result, then a wide grin broke out on his face. "Like you said, it's faint, but that's definitely a blue line!"

Donna sighed in relief. "It's a positive. I almost can't believe it."

"I'm gonna be a daddy," Chad said wonderingly. "I'm gonna be a daddy!"

In his elation he grabbed Donna and spun her around, and let out a whoop of joy. Donna joined in his celebration, laughing with delight as she held on to him.

"You know what this means, right?" Chad asked her, after the initial euphoria of the good news had died down. He searched her blue eyes intently.

"What?" Donna asked. A million thoughts flashed through her mind in reply to her husband's question. _It means we'll finally have a use for the nursery. It means we'll be looking at names for the baby. It means we're finally going to be parents. It means... Oh, it means so much, I can't even think straight right now._

"It _means_..." Chad said with emphasis, "that you don't have to be walking the beat anymore."

Donna felt as if he'd thrown cold water on her.

"Chad," she said, doing her level best to ensure she kept her irritation at bay, "we've been through this. I _love_ my job. I'm not dropping out of the force automatically just because I'm pregnant, or any other reason, for that matter."

"So you'd willingly put the baby at risk," Chad said accusingly. Unspoken anger registered on his features.

"You make it sound like I don't care, and you know that isn't true," she tried to sound conciliatory. "I want this, Chad, just as much as you do."

"Oh, really?" Chad said, folding his arms.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove to me that having a family is more important to you than being a cop. Talk to your supervisor. Put in for desk duty if you're really going to be stubborn about staying on the force."

"That isn't fair, Chad," Donna said. "My job isn't a _hobby_, or recreation. It's my _career, _and working behind a desk isn't why I became a police officer."

"So you're not even going to ask for light duty," Chad said sullenly."You're going to go right back out tomorrow morning like nothing has changed, putting yourself and the baby at risk, all because you're too focused on your little _career_."

"Chad!" Donna exclaimed, getting more upset at herself that she was allowing him to push her buttons.

"You're so selfish, you know that? I thought you wanted this, Donna, I really did. But clearly, we're on totally different pages."

Chad stalked out of the bathroom, leaving behind a palpable sense of hostility in his wake.

"What's the matter with you?" Donna called out after him. "A minute ago you were the happiest man on the planet. Chad! Come on. Don't be like that."

But he didn't answer her.

Donna turned back and faced her reflection in the mirror, and was surprised to see that she was visibly trembling. She replayed their angry exchange in her mind, trying to sort through exactly how everything had fallen off the track so quickly.

Donna sulked. _You knew what you were getting into when we got together, Chad. You knew I was a police constable. If you knew you weren't going to be able to accept that, why did you ask me to marry you?_

They'd had battles over her choice in profession in the past, but she'd always held her ground, arguing that she was good at her job, and that it was her choice.

But every time there was a law enforcement fatality anywhere, Chad always threw it in Donna's face as evidence that she should resign and move on to something less dangerous... and every time it infuriated her.

Donna tossed the pregnancy test in the garbage, her earlier joy turned sour. She went into the living room, thinking of ways to confront her husband and disarm the situation.

"Chad, I know you're upset," she said, approaching him calmly.

He gave a scornful snort in reply.

"What _is_ the underlying issue here? You've never liked that I'm a police officer; I get that. I get it loud and clear. But what I want to know is _why_. Is it because of the hours? Is it because you think I can't handle the stress...? That I might have an affair with another officer? What?" She was grasping at straws with the last one, but she was too frustrated to care.

"Oh, gee, I don't know, Donna," Chad spat sarcastically. "Maybe it's because I don't want you to get _shot_! Did you ever think about that?"

Donna sighed, and did her utmost not to treat him condescendingly. She drew a calming breath before speaking, but it didn't really help. "Are you serious, Chad? Get real. If that's what you're really worried about, let me give you a little perspective, since yours is obviously skewed. In the past twenty years, approximately one hundred and fifty-six law enforcement officers have been killed in the line of duty in this country. You want to know how many of those were due to gunfire? Thirty-five."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better or worse?" Chad growled.

"Just let me finish, will you?" Donna pleaded. "Out of all those one hundred and fifty-six deaths, _only_ fifteen were female. If you do the math, that's less that one death per year, _on average_, in twenty years."

Chad grunted skeptically, but Donna continued. "Out of those thirty-five shooting fatalities, only five were women. That's about fourteen percent."

"And your point?"

"My _point_ is, if, heaven forbid, I get killed in the line of duty, it's much more likely I'm going to die due to a much more innocuous reason, like a traffic accident or something. That doesn't mean I shouldn't get behind the wheel of my squad car, does it?"

"So let me get this straight," Chad said, his voice low and mocking, "one hundred and fifty-six officers died in the line of duty in the past twenty years, and thirty-five of them were shot to death..."

"Yes," Donna replied. "May they rest in peace."

"Sure, whatever. You say five out of those thirty-five were women. That means thirty were men, right?"

"Yes. I'm so glad you were paying attention."

"So, _if you do the math_, as you say, that works out to thirty male gunshot victims out of one hundred and forty-one total, and five female gunshot victims out of fifteen total. Am I right?"

"You got it," Donna said with a nod.

Chad looked like he was working some quick mental arithmetic. "That works out to... twenty-one percent of all _male_ line-of-duty deaths due to gunshots versus, let's see... _thirty-three _percent of all _female_ line-of-duty deaths. Looks to me that if you're female, you're much more likely to die getting shot than your male counterparts. Great, Donna. I feel _much_ better now. So cheered to know that _one third_ of all female officers killed on duty died because they were shot!"

Donna groaned in exasperation. Somehow, he was finding a way to twist her statistics.

"You shouldn't ever argue numbers and averages with a lawyer, Donna," he said nastily, "we know how to make them work in our favour. Want to discuss instead the rates of divorce among law enforcement officers?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "You know as well as I do that it's a myth that divorce rates among law enforcement officers are higher than the national average."

"So we're bucking the trend, then? You're not invincible, Donna. You do know that, right?" Chad sneered.

"For God's sake, of course I know it!" Donna snapped. "I could get killed just trying to cross the street! I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm much more likely to die in a car accident than getting shot. It's the same thing for you, but you don't see me stopping you from driving to court everyday!"

"Stow it," Chad retorted, "you lost the argument. Your job's way more dangerous than mine on any given day. Putting yourself in the line of fire is foolhardy and totally unnecessary!"

"Oh, you are _such_ a chauvinist!" Donna sputtered. "If our roles were reversed, I wouldn't be asking you to step down from your job because I was afraid our baby mightn't grow up without a father!"

"And see that's just it, isn't it?" Chad rebutted, raising his voice, "there won't _be_ any growing up for our baby if something happens to _you_! It blows my mind that you can't see that! You know what? I'm done arguing..."

Chad stormed out of the living room, his face red with fury.

Donna stared after him, her fists balled in frustration. She made a move to follow him, but decided to let him cool off before she attempted a reconciliation.

After their blow-up, Chad did not speak a word to Donna for the rest of the night, and they'd gone to sleep in separate beds. He'd gone to the guest room while Donna had lain awake for several hours, hoping that he would relent, and that he would come creeping back into their room, ready to make up.

When Donna awoke the next morning after a fitful sleep, it was with an awareness that the spot next to her on the bed was empty. She got up and went through her usual morning routine efficiently, all the while wondering what she was going to say to Chad.

One thing was certain: she wasn't going to quit being a police officer any time soon. Donna determined that as long as she was physically able to perform her duties, she was going to continue. She wasn't going to buy into her husband's paranoia, and she wasn't going to let him guilt her into desk duty. She was going to take her maternity leave when she was good and ready.

Chad was already awake and reading the newspaper when Donna entered the kitchen. He pointedly ignored her presence, and kept his face hidden behind the Sports section.

She hated being the recipient of the silent treatment, and wanted to end the standoff.

"Chad," she started to say, but was rudely interrupted.

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't some combination of: _'Chad, I'm going to speak to my supervisor to put in for desk duty today'_, then don't bother to say another word to me, ever, because I certainly have nothing else to say to you."

Donna bit back an angry retort. She noticed he didn't even bother to lower the paper while issuing that ultimatum.

_Fine, Chad_, she thought. _If that's the way you want it, I can play this game, too. If you don't want to talk, we're not going to talk._

Donna didn't usually like leaving for work on an acrimonious note, but this morning, she knew Chad's attitude would ensure they weren't going to be on speaking terms for quite a while.

Her partner, Constable Sheldon Wong, noticed her mood as soon as they were into their patrol. While Donna drove, he casually asked what was bothering her.

Donna liked and respected Sheldon, and appreciated that he was concerned, yet she wasn't sure how much she ought to share. The elation at finding out she was pregnant was overshadowed by Chad's attitude towards her career, and his negativity was clearly impacting her enough for Sheldon to notice.

"You know you can't put anything past me, Sabine," he said with a cocky smile. "I know you too well. Spill it."

Keeping her eyes on the road, Donna answered him. "Fine, I will. But you need to keep this completely to yourself...at least for now."

Shel put his hands up defensively. "This is _me_ you're talking to; of course I won't leak anything you say if you don't want me to."

"Nobody else knows except me and Chad... I mean, not even my parents know yet... and I still have to confirm with my doctor, but... I found out yesterday that I'm pregnant."

"Hey, that's great! Congratulations!" Sheldon said enthusiastically.

"It _is_ great," Donna said wryly, "except Chad's being a total ass about me being on the job. We had this big fight last night about it, and he's giving me the cold shoulder. Says he doesn't even want to hear another word from me unless I immediately put in for – get this – _desk duty_."

"Ouch," Sheldon said. "Sorry to hear that. What is that guy's problem, anyway?"

"He's a chauvinist pig, that's what," Donna responded. "He just has this irrational way of thinking about safety on the job. I tried telling him some simple facts about fatalities based on some stats from the past twenty years, and he instantly twisted them around."

"What are you going to do?" Sheldon asked.

"I don't know," Donna answered with a tired sigh. "He won't listen to reason, but I am _not_ going to be sitting behind a desk for the next nine months."

"Well, I for one wouldn't want to be involved in a standoff with _you_," Sheldon said. "Clearly Chad doesn't know how strong-willed you are -_Whoa_! Did you see that? That red Toyota just blew through that red light in the intersection ahead of us!"

"I saw it! He almost nailed that poor pedestrian, too," Donna said, and kicked into pursuit mode. Sirens blaring and lights flashing, she maneuvered the squad car into a position behind the car that had just violated a couple traffic laws. She had a gut feeling by the end of the chase, it was likely the driver would be slapped with a few more violations, too.

While Sheldon radioed in their position and pursuit, Donna kept her eyes focused on the Toyota that was travelling at speeds in contravention of the posted limits.

"I can make out two people in there," Sheldon said. "Driver and passenger-side occupant. License plate is obscured by dirt, though," Sheldon muttered.

"Probably on purpose," Donna said. She pushed the speed of the squad car, all the while making sure their quarry didn't also push things to unsafe levels that might endanger innocent civilians.

Fortunately, they were now racing along a stretch of highway that at present wasn't terribly busy. The risk was so far minimal, and Donna hoped to keep it that way.

Then, as if the driver sensed that a chase wasn't worth it, the Toyota slowed and pulled to the shoulder, coming to a complete stop.

"Smart move," Donna said aloud. She looked to Sheldon. "I'll get this one."

"Go for it, partner," he said.

Donna stepped out of the squad car and slowly and deliberately approached the driver's side of the Toyota. Even on a supposedly 'routine' stop, she knew she couldn't afford let down her guard for a moment.

She didn't have to prompt the driver to roll down the window, as it came down as soon as she reached it. Donna stole a glance inside, and took in as many details as quickly as possible. The driver was a white male who looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties. He was casually dressed in a denim jacket, black T-shirt and jeans. He had a few days' worth of stubble on his face, and had a head of closely-cropped, dark brown hair.

His occupant was a white female, and looked to be in her mid-to late twenties. She had long, black hair, and wore a sleeveless white blouse and black jeans. She wore no makeup, but had an expensive-looking diamond ring on her left hand.

Donna wasn't sure if it was an engagement ring, so she wasn't about to jump to any conclusions about the possible relationship between the couple before her.

"Good morning, folks," Donna said to them. "I'm Constable Donna Sabine. Thanks for pulling over. Now, I'm quite sure you know why you've been pulled over, but I'm going to tell you why, anyway. You were observed speeding through a red light. You were observed nearly striking a pedestrian in a crosswalk. You were also observed driving above the posted speed limit. You're also driving with obscured plates. I want to see your license and registration now, please."

The man shot his passenger a sideways glance. She sent a look back to him.

Donna felt slightly uneasy at the silent exchange, and kept her eyes on the driver's hands which were sitting idly on his lap.

"License and registration? Sure, Constable," the man said amiably, while the young woman reached for the glove compartment.

The man made a show of squirming in his seat in order to slip his hand into his back pocket for his wallet.

The woman popped open the glove box while Donna watched. The hatch dropped down, and the woman reached inside to grab at the contents.

With a flash of alarm, Donna saw the woman withdraw a handgun. Her hand flew to her sidearm at her hip, as she simultaneously yelled: "Put it down!"

But her shouted command was drowned out by the sound of gunfire as the woman quickly fired off two shots through the open window.

It took a few moments for the impact of the bullets to register, and Donna reeled from the force of them striking her in the abdomen. She struggled to maintain her balance, and eventually toppled backwards, collapsing to the asphalt.

"_Sabine!_"

Donna heard Sheldon's frantic cry of alarm, and the sound of the Toyota's engine roaring to life. She then heard the squeal of tires, and smelled burning rubber and exhaust fumes as the car sped away.

"_Officer down!_ Requesting immediate assistance! Shots fired! Officer down!"

The voice of her partner seemed to be coming from a great distance away, even though Donna knew he was shouting at top of his lungs into his radio.

_I've been shot!_ Donna thought incredulously as she lay supine on the road, sprawled perpendicular to both lanes of highway. _That woman shot me! She didn't have to shoot me... she had no reason to shoot me! This isn't supposed to have happened. The law of averages is supposed to be on _my_ side!_

Without warning, the pain hit. It came on suddenly and unrelentingly, and Donna clenched her teeth in agony. A groan escaped her lips, and she knew with sickening certainty that her vest hadn't stopped the bullets.

She became aware of Sheldon kneeling at her side.

"Don't try to move," he said, his hands swiftly pulling open her uniform shirt to assess the damage.

"The vest didn't stop..." Donna gasped. She saw him send her a look of consternation.

"You're bleeding," Sheldon said, his tone edged with panic. "A lot. But I've called for help."

Donna nodded. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and clenched her teeth once again against waves of pain.

"Just stay with me, okay? You're going to pull through this," Sheldon said, putting up a brave front. He took one of her hands in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Help is coming...stay with me..." The words became a kind of mantra.

Donna's vision began to swim, blackness pressing in on the outer edges of her periphery. The world began to spin, and Sheldon's voice became little more than soothing background noise. It would be so easy to go to sleep now; to succumb to that blackness that was slowly creeping across her entire line of sight.

_Chad... the baby... Oh, no... Chad's going to kill me..._

Going to sleep seemed a much more attractive option than the physical and emotional pain she was experiencing...

"Don't, Donna!" Sheldon ordered, snapping her back to the present moment. "Don't you dare let go!"

Sirens. Through her groggy, near-unconscious state, Donna recognized ambulance and cruiser sirens. They were coming for her.

She let out a sigh of relief, and allowed herself to drift off.

When Donna awoke, it was with a sense that something was very wrong. She heard the beeping of machines, and the hiss of blood pressure monitors. She felt stiff and cold and nauseated.

_I'm in a hospital, _Donna felt as if her whole midsection had taken the brunt of a blow from a wrecking ball. _What happened to me?_

Then the memory of what had transpired earlier came back to her. The red Toyota. The man and woman; the gun... getting shot... Sheldon's frightened face just hovering above hers as he tried to stem the flow of blood...

_How bad was I hurt? The vest was ineffective. Is anyone out there aware I'm awake? Have they taken steps to make sure the baby is okay? _

Fear that her pregnancy was in jeopardy made her breath catch in her throat and her skin prickle.

Eventually, nurses and doctors came, assessing and talking with Donna about her condition.

"You were out of consciousness for two days," one doctor informed her.

The badge on the white coat identified her as 'Dr. Phoebe Bennett'.

"Why that long?" Donna asked, surprised by this.

"You incurred massive blood loss due to the trauma suffered when you were shot, Constable," the doctor replied. "There was some concern about coma, but you didn't slip that far, and thankfully, you're awake now."

"How bad was it?" Donna asked.

"The first bullet missed your vital organs, but nicked an artery, which would account for the blood loss. The second one penetrated your liver. However, we expect you'll make a full recovery."

Donna was wondering how she should even ask about the status of her pregnancy, since Dr. Bennett hadn't addressed it.

"Doctor, when I was brought in, did my partner say anything about me... expecting?"

The medical professional frowned. She flipped through Donna's chart. "I wasn't on duty when you were brought in," she said guardedly.

"The thing is, I took a home pregnancy test yester – no, three days ago now, I guess. It was positive." Donna stared uneasily at the other woman. She had a terrible feeling that the doctor was holding something back.

"It's standard procedure to perform a urine pregnancy test on females admitted with penetrating abdominal injuries like yours," Dr. Bennett explained. "At the time, levels of the hGC hormone indicated you were probably pregnant."

_Were?_ _Probably?_

"We could check the levels again from a blood draw if you like, but... you're actually menstruating right now."

_No_, Donna thought. _This is a nightmare!_ _This can't have happened. I can't have lost the baby. _She wiped away tears that were spilling from the corners of her eyes.

"I am sorry, Constable," the doctor said with genuine compassion. "The trauma your body's been through over the past 72 hours..."

"Does my husband know? Is he here?" Donna asked, dreading Chad's reaction.

"I don't know," the doctor answered. "But your partner - Constable Wong, I think - he's been stopping by every day. He asked to be informed when you woke up."

Donna nodded, her sense of loss threatening to overwhelm her. There was the tiniest modicum of relief at the prospect that at least Sheldon was concerned about her, and it helped buoy her sinking spirits.

After asking the usual questions about Donna's comfort level and pain tolerance, Dr. Bennett finally left the room.

There wasn't much time to reflect on how badly things had gone, for Sheldon poked his head into the room two minutes after Dr. Bennett's departure. In his hand was a bouquet of red carnations and yellow roses.

"May I come in?" he asked, his face filled with concern and worry.

Donna nodded, and gave him a faint smile of welcome.

"I brought you these," he said, placing the bouquet on the bedside table. "Red carnations mean 'admiration' and 'my heart aches for you', and yellow roses can mean 'friendship' and 'welcome back'. It's corny, I know, but... damn it, Sabine, you had all us really worried for a while there."

"Thank you, Shel," Donna said appreciatively. "I don't know how many guys even care about what flowers mean these days."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm a romantic at heart. But seriously, Donna... how are you feeling?"

Donna wasn't quite sure how to answer. "Not good, Shel," she managed to say, before her eyes began to brim with tears again. "That woman _shot_ me! Remember how I told you I had a positive pregnancy test result?"

"Yeah..." Sheldon answered.

"I'm not pregnant anymore," Donna said bitterly.

Sheldon lowered his head. "I was afraid of that. I'm sorry, partner..."

"Chad will never talk to me again."

"Of course he will," Sheldon said, though to his own ears, he knew he sounded unconvincing.

"Did you at least catch them?" Donna asked, knowing her buddies on the force would have pursued her assailants without cease.

"Yeah, we got 'em," Shel replied. "SRU brought them down after a standoff in a mall parking lot."

"I guess I'm just looking for answers," Donna said. "Why did that woman open fire on me? They must have been running for some reason we didn't know about..."

"You're right," Shel replied. "The woman's dad owned a jewellery shop. One of the SRU team members found him and the wife shot to death in their home, the safes in the house and the store open and emptied. We think the daughter – your shooter – knew combinations, and the boyfriend – that's the driver, helped her clean out all the valuables. They then proceeded to steal several cars in succession. The owner of that red Toyota we chased? He didn't even know it was missing until he saw the news report about it. Then, in the mall parking lot, they tried to steal another car. I guess the driver wasn't fast enough and they shot him, too."

"They were out on a crime spree?" Donna asked, her gut lurching at this revelation.

"Looks that way," Shel said. "I can't tell you how much I wish I'd insisted on taking that one, Donna. When I saw you go down..."

Donna shut her eyes. "Please... I don't want to think about it anymore..."

"Sorry." He quickly changed the subject. "Your parents flew in from Montreal. They're staying at the Ramada, I think... I should probably find out if the hospital has told them you're awake."

"Would you? They've probably been worrying themselves sick," Donna said. She didn't really want Sheldon to leave. At the moment, she was craving human support and contact, but she knew it wasn't right to expect him to provide it. What she wanted most was for Chad to be the kind of husband she desperately wanted and needed him to be.

A half hour after Sheldon left, Donna saw a familiar figure standing in the doorway.

"Chad?" she said, looking at him, silently begging for him to enter. She so wanted him to comfort and console her, but instead, his face reflected anger, disgust and... hate; ugly, unvarnished hate.

His eyes pierced her to the soul, convicting her, sending a shiver through her whole body.

Without a word, he spun on his heel and left.

After that, the only words that were ever exchanged between them was through their divorce lawyers.

END

**A/N: The statistics used in this story are for the most part an accurate reflection of police fatalities in Canada from 1987 - 2007. God bless those men and women who've made that ultimate sacrifice while fulfilling their duty. **


	4. A Convincing Meth Freak

**A/N: Spoilers (sort of) for the Season 3 episode 'The Farm'. That episode totally got the wheels in my head turning, and this was the result. Enjoy.**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Donna Sabine**

_**A Convincing Meth Freak**_

Vice Unit Staff Inspector Scott Wallen appraised the thirty-something woman seated across from him with a critical eye. His first impression was that she could have passed for a financial adviser for a bank rather than a nearly ten-year veteran of the Toronto Police Service.

She was smartly attired in a navy pantsuit ensemble with a tailored white blouse, unlike the uniformed constables roaming the halls outside his office. Her dark blonde hair was neatly arranged in a no-nonsense French braid, typical of other women in her profession. She wore no makeup except for a dash of light pink lip gloss. Her piercing blue eyes looked like they were constantly in observation mode, and she seemed quite unperturbed by his close scrutiny. Wallen liked that about her; in this line of work, cooler heads prevailed, and the assignment currently at stake definitely required a cool head.

Wallen had her file on his desk. He'd read it several times and knew its contents quite well: it was full of glowing performance assessments. Constable Donna Sabine seemed every inch the person for the upcoming operation, at least on paper. Her most recent undercover assignment had her in with a nest of human vipers, playing the role of a high-end call girl. For three weeks she'd stayed in character, and had never once aroused suspicion. At the end of it all, a crystal meth manufacturing and distribution czar was out of business and in custody, along with a dozen of his underlings.

No, Wallen's doubts stemmed not from lack of qualification and skill, but rather Donna Sabine's overall appearance. She just didn't _look_ like she could pass for a hardened drug addict. She looked like she could get up and run a 10K marathon without breaking a sweat.

It was one thing to pull on ragged street clothes and make up someone with cosmetics to appear to be a disease-infested, downtrodden junkie for a day or two, but the planned assignment was going to be for much longer than a mere two days.

Wallen sat forward and interlocked his fingers. He knew Sabine was waiting to see if the assignment was hers. She had an earnest expression on her face, anticipating his answer. As if sensing his ambivalence, she said: "You know, Inspector, contrary to appearances, I'm told I make a very convincing meth freak."

He smiled in spite of himself, decision made. "Noted," he said in reply. Then, "Constable Sabine, have you ever heard of a place called _The Farm_?"

* * *

Charles Stewart, the charismatic founder of _The Farm,_ welcomed Donna to his rehab program. As she sat in his office, she spilled out her cover story for him. She was Donna St. Clair, a high-school drop-out who quickly fell into the street life and became addicted to methamphetamines. Stewart told her that he would definitely be able to help her, but that she had to follow his directives unquestioningly.

By week two, he was pleased to note that the new arrival seemed to have settled in comfortably with the daily routines of the facility. She eagerly accepted the tasks on the farm he'd assigned her, and appeared to be on board with the treatment program he'd tailored for her.

By week three, he started watching her more closely than he normally would another resident. Something wasn't quite right about Donna St. Clair. Sure, she _acted_ as if she'd come from the mean streets, and talked of the hardships of being kicked out of her home by abusive parents and becoming an addict after dropping out of school... something was still slightly amiss.

Stewart was determined to find out just what it was about her that was bothering him.

By week four, he had his suspicions confirmed. Another new arrival, fresh from a court order to attend a drug rehabilitation program, came to Stewart privately.

"I seen her before," Eugene Hicks whispered to Charles one afternoon in Charles' office.

"Who?"

"That 'Donna' chick," Eugene replied.

"Really?" Charles asked mildly, concealing his interest. "Where?"

"A flophouse, three months ago. In Toronto. We got raided. _She_ was there, man."

Charles considered this piece of news. "She was 'there' as in there with you in the flophouse, or 'there' as in _part of the raid_?"

Eugene sniffed. "The _raid_, man. She's the one that 'cuffed me! She gotta be a narc, or somethin'."

"Are you certain?" Charles asked, feeling an involuntary quickening of his pulse. This could mean that the authorities were on to him.

"Yeah, man. It's those eyes. And I don't forget faces."

"Thank you, Eugene," Charles said calmly, "you may go back to your duties."

The other man took his cue and left Charles' office.

* * *

Donna Sabine opened her eyes slowly, then wished she hadn't. Harsh afternoon sunlight streamed in through an open window, directly onto her face. Her head ached terribly, and a hazy memory of being confronted in one of the barns by a shovel-wielding member of the commune came back to her.

An attempt to move was unsuccessful as Donna realized that she was bound to a chair.

"Who are you?"

Charles Stewart's voice seemed to come from far away.

Donna feigned ignorance. "Charles? Is that you? What's going on? Is this part of my treatment program or something?"

Charles stepped from out of the shadows, his face filling her field of vision.

"I'm going to ask you again: who are you?" His voice was cold, and his eyes were filled with suspicion.

"Charles, please... you're starting to really frighten me..." Donna squeezed out a few tears while her mind was racing through the possibilities. Had her cover been blown?

Charles suddenly grabbed her face in his hand, roughly digging his fingers into her cheeks. "You're going to tell me who you are and what you're doing here, right now!"

_Yes_, Donna decided with sinking spirits, _Charles definitely suspects something. That's why I was attacked with the shovel and tied up._

"No answer, eh?" Charles said in disgust. He let go of her face and turned on his heel. He started pacing around, kicking up dust and hay. "I don't think you quite grasp the gravity of the situation, _Donna_, or whatever your name really is."

Donna stared back defiantly, but inside, she could feel her heart beating wildly. The barn was one of the worst places Charles could have picked for this 'interrogation'. She hadn't planted any of the listening devices in here; it hadn't seemed necessary. No one outside the fences of _The Farm _knew she was in danger. No one was riding to her rescue.

How had it come to this? She was certain she'd done nothing to give herself away...

"You want to know how I know you're not a recovering meth addict?" Charles taunted. "You're just not convincing enough. Your health is just too good. I've watched you more closely than you think, and your teeth and gums are perfect. If you were really on the streets and addicted as long as you claimed you were, you should've had a pretty nasty case of 'meth-mouth' by now."

_He's lying_, Donna thought. _He knows more about me than he's telling._

Charles turned back around and stared at her. He pulled a handgun from his waistband and waved it casually in front of her. "I know pointing this at your head probably isn't going to make you say anything, but I just wanted you to know that unless I get the answers I want, whoever you're working for out there will never find your body after I'm through with you."

Donna attempted one last gambit. If it failed, she knew she was dead.

"Okay, okay, I'll _tell you_. Just please, don't kill me."

Charles lowered the weapon and narrowed his eyes.

"You're right. I'm not a real meth addict, and my name isn't really Donna St. Clair. It's Donna Wallen, and I'm an investigative reporter for _The Toronto Star_. I came here looking to do a big story on addictions and rehabilitation. I knew you wouldn't let me on _The Farm_ unless you thought I was a druggie, so my editor and I came up with my cover story so I could get on here."

"Really," Charles said doubtfully. "A reporter, eh?"

"Yes!" Donna said, adding an edge of desperation to her voice. "Please, let me go. All I was interested in was a good story!"

" 'A good story'," Charles repeated with a short laugh. "Hmm... I heard a good story earlier today; perhaps you'd like to hear it! It's about a flophouse about three months ago in downtown Toronto. It stars a coke user named Eugene who happened to get caught in a raid when the Vice squad swooped in to pick up the dealer. Everyone there got taken into custody, including poor, hapless Eugene. But his story doesn't end there. A sympathetic judge told Eugene he could avoid jail if he took a substance-abuse program. Eugene, being somewhat bright, chose to come here... and you'll never guess who he recognized..."

Donna's heart was hammering in her throat. She'd seen Eugene Hicks on _The Farm_. But never in a million years did she think that he had recognized her. She'd assumed he'd been too high at the time of his arrest to remember anything about that day, much less who she was and what she looked like.

"You should see your face," Charles said coldly. "It betrays you. Yes, Eugene recognized _you_, Donna, if that really _is_ your name."

Donna closed her eyes and dropped her head, a silent prayer for deliverance running through her mind.

"The real question now, of course, is what I should do with you," Charles said. "Clearly, you're an undercover agent. Tell me, Miss Narc, what do the authorities know about me?"

He brought the gun up once again, pointed it at her and released the safety.

"There's hundreds of acres of empty field out here. What I said before wasn't a threat. You don't answer me, they'll never find your body."

A sudden commotion from outside the barn drew Charles' attention. Shouts from several men reached his ears, and he tensed.

One of the facility's residents appeared at the barn door, out of breath and shaking. "Charles! The gates have been breached! It's the cops! They're coming!"

Donna's head snapped up and her eyes opened in a flash. Had she heard correctly?

"How many are there, Higgins?" Charles snapped.

The man named Higgins gulped. "Uh, six, I think," he stammered. "They're all fully armed. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to ask them to leave," Charles said casually. "They won't do anything stupid as long as we have _her_."

* * *

"...After which point in time the body of Charles Stewart was taken to the city morgue for autopsy..." the gentle voice of Sergeant Gregory Parker intoned. "Constable Callaghan, do you have anything to add?"

"No, Sarge," the sniper said quietly.

"I know SIU cleared you, Jules," Greg said, "but it hasn't escaped any of us that that was your first time using deadly force to resolve a hostage situation."

Jules shrugged. "Thanks for the concern, Sarge," she said. "I appreciate it. Yes, it was my first kill shot. But that's the job, right? Stewart was escalating. He was going to kill Constable Sabine. The choice was clear."

"Okay," Greg said, needing no further convincing. "I just wanted to say: Job well done, everyone. We got one of our fellow officers out alive today, and prevented an even bigger disaster from taking place on that farm. There's no telling how many more lives would have been lost if Stewart had succeeded in carrying out his plans for the mass murder of the members of that commune..."

* * *

Vice Unit Staff Inspector Scott Wallen looked at the thirty-something woman seated across from him in his office.

"How did you know I was in trouble?" Donna Sabine asked him. "The barn wasn't bugged."

"No," Wallen agreed, "but you _did_ bug Stewart's office. That's where Eugene Hicks told Stewart all about how he recognized you. As soon as we heard that, we knew things were going to get bad for you in a hurry. We immediately dispatched SRU."

Donna nodded. "I can't believe I had my cover blown by one lousy low-life I encountered for one lousy drug bust."

"These things happen," Wallen said with a sigh. "Those are the risks involved."

"I want to request a transfer."

Wallen started, surprised by this sudden comment. "You... what?" He sputtered.

"I want a transfer. I want out of Vice."

"Well, assuming I'll even approve a transfer for you, where do you want to go?"

"Well, I've been thinking, obviously, about recent events," Donna said, "and SRU sounds pretty damn nice to me."

**END**


	5. You Can't Word Associate That

**A/N: When I realised I hadn't done 'funny' with Donna yet for her '5 Things', I just knew I had to after seeing 'Fault Lines'. Nothing really of a spoilery nature if you haven't seen that episode, but it helps if you have. Hope you enjoy.  
**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Donna Sabine**

_**You Can't Word Associate That…**_

* * *

The lie detector test machines that Dr. Larry 'Team-Breaker' Toth had carried into one of the SRU headquarters' briefing rooms had seen a lot of action over the years he'd owned them. He scorned the modern, digital lie-detector technology, asserting they lacked a certain charm.

Toth would never admit it to anyone, but he had bestowed a nickname upon his old, trusty companions: "The Whopper Twins".

Donna Sabine was presently attached to one of the 'twins'; observing the evaluation was Sergeant Greg Parker, who was hooked to the other 'twin'.

Dr. Toth now smiled benignly at his 'test subject', projecting what he privately referred to as his 'avuncular' persona.

"Okay, Donna," he began almost kindly, "I'd like you to tell me three truths and one lie; in that order."

In his experience as a military psychologist, Toth knew that most people would list name, rank, serial number, and then something totally unrelated; often something they claimed they liked, but obviously didn't, or vice versa. Cops followed a similar pattern too, he noted, usually listing off their name, occupation, some other personal detail, and then the asked-for untruth.

He expected Donna Sabine's responses to be no different.

"My name is Donna Sabine," the constable started, just as Toth figured she would.

"Go on," he encouraged, when she seemed to pause for a moment longer than he thought necessary.

"Umm…I like taking items out of other people's shopping carts at the Safeway when they're not looking… My last screening for dementia came back negative, and I always vote for the most good-looking politician in federal, provincial and civic elections."

"Uh, thank you," Toth said grudgingly, somewhat put off by her unusual choice in answers, "we have a baseline."

"Cool," Donna said with a small smile. "Does that mean I passed?"

"No, it just means I know – oh, you were being facetious," Toth commented dryly. "Now, we're going to do some word-association: say the first word that comes to your mind; no thinking."

"Saying the first thing that comes to my mind implies I've got to _think_ first before I can say something back to you, Doc," Donna said, without any hint of guile.

Toth didn't flinch. "Just no _deep_ thinking; I want rapid-fire responses, okay? 'Airport'."

"Airport."

"Don't _repeat_ the word I said; I want you to _associate_ something with it," Toth snapped.

"I did," Donna said. "When you said 'airport', I decided you must have been thinking about Pearson International Airport, so I associated that with _Hamilton_ International Airport, so that's why I said 'airport', too."

Toth decided not to contradict her and moved on. "Vice."

"Spell it."

"What?"

"Well, I don't know which one you mean."

"Whichever one first came to mind!" Toth said with a frown.

"Now you're forcing me to think, Dr. Toth. You could mean 'vice' as in an immoral, habitual act; 'vice', as in that grippy tool thingamajig; 'Vice' as in the area of law enforcement; vice-president-"

"Okay, stop-"

"Red."

"No, I mean _stop!_" Toth held up a hand.

"And I meant 'red', as in the colour, not the past tense of the present act of reading," Donna said, pantomiming opening a novel and scanning text.

"Constable Sabine, be quiet!"

"Am I supposed to word-associate that?" Donna whispered to Sergeant Greg Parker.

"You don't get points for trying to be glib, Constable Sabine," Toth growled in annoyance. "Now, I'm going to ignore that little false start there and begin this phase of the evaluation again, with the warning that I have the authority to remove you from duty on Team One if you fail to pass this evaluation to my satisfaction."

"Good to know," Donna replied airily.

"Clear?" Toth asked, fixing her with a steely gaze.

"Noxzema."

Toth groaned. "I didn't want you to word-associate that!"

"I wasn't," Donna said with a hint of irritation. "You asked: 'Clear?', and I said: 'Noxzema', as in the brand of acne cream."

"I _know_ what it is! You were word-associating!"

"No, I _wasn't_," Donna insisted. "See, most people answer 'crystal', as in 'crystal clear' when they're asked 'are we clear'. I always answer with 'Noxzema'."

Toth's smile was mirthless. "Mmm, I see, a little personal joke, eh?"

"I knew you'd understand," Sabine replied with a wink. "I hoped you would, being a psychologist and all…"

Toth expelled a lungful of air and narrowed his eyes. "Constable Sabine, your lack of cooperation throughout this entire exercise has left me with no choice. From the very beginning, I had doubts about your suitability for this unit due to your continued inability to follow orders while in the field, and your behaviour here only solidifies my impression of you as a maverick and a loose cannon."

"'Maverick'?" Donna appeared hurt. "Are you comparing me to Sarah Palin? You know, if she were a Canadian politician, I wouldn't have voted for her, even if people think she's good-looking..."

Toth pointedly ignored her. "Constable Sabine," he broke in, "I hereby recommend that you be removed from active duty on Team One, _immediately._"

The military psychologist was writing furiously on the official forms, his face showing he was clearly aggravated and infuriated by the whole process.

"If we're done, may I take off this blood pressure cuff and these breathing and heart-rate monitor thingies?" Donna asked.

"Fine," Toth grumbled distractedly.

"Thanks," she breathed in relief. "It was starting to feel really uncomfortable…"

She began removing the cuff and peeled off the strips around her fingers while Greg did the same.

"Sergeant Parker," Toth grunted through clenched teeth, as he stood up to leave, "I don't know how you managed to keep Team One from committing acts of gross incompetence on calls. All I can say is that it was plain dumb luck with all the fault lines running through it."

Greg simply kept his peace and let the psychologist finish his rant.

"Anyway, after today," Toth said, glaring once again at Donna, "there will _for sure_ be one less person for the public to worry about who might screw up on Team One."

Toth collected the paper rolls with the lie detector's ink scrawl and snapped 'The Whopper Twins' shut. He picked them up, hit the button to raise the briefing room blast door, and stalked out of the briefing room without looking back.

Greg rose quietly and hit the button to lower the door once more. It hit the floor, sealing the room and rendering it sound-proof.

Greg turned to look at Donna, and after a beat of silence, both broke into howls of side-splitting laughter.

"Man, I hate that guy," Greg eventually managed to say, almost sobbing through the effort of trying to control himself. "Thanks for helping us out with a little revenge scheme on such short notice, Donna. Submitting your file to him last minute was a gamble, but…"

"Oh, my pleasure, Greg. That was fun," Donna sighed as she wiped away a tear. "It's a good thing Toth didn't know that I haven't been with Team One in over a year and that I re-qualified with Team Three _last_ month…"

* * *

**A/N: If you're on Facebook, make sure you join up with the Flashpoint Team One page, as it is run by the producers of the show. It's the place to be for Flashpoint fans.**


End file.
